I. BANNER of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast thou | |
| Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry! | |
| Never with mightier glory than when we had reared thee on high | |
| Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow— | |
| Shot through the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew, | 5 |
| And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. | |
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II. Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives— | |
| Women and children among us, God help them, our children and wives! | |
| Hold it we might—and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. | |
| ‘Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post!’ | 10 |
| Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave: | |
| Cold were his brows when we kissed him—we laid him that night in his grave. | |
| ‘Every man die at his post!’ and there hailed on our houses and halls | |
| Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls, | |
| Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade, | 15 |
| Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we stoop to the spade, | |
| Death to the dying, and wounds to the wounded, for often there fell, | |
| Striking the hospital wall, crashing thro’ it, their shot and their shell, | |
| Death—for their spies were among us, their marksmen were told of our best, | |
| So that the brute bullet broke thro’ the brain that could think for the rest; | 20 |
| Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our feet— | |
| Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us round— | |
| Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street, | |
| Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death in the ground! | |
| Mine? yes, a mine! Countermine! down, down! and creep thro’ the hole! | 25 |
| Keep the revolver in hand! you can hear him—the murderous mole! | |
| Quiet, ah! quiet—wait till the point of the pickaxe be through! | |
| Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before— | |
| Now let it speak, and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no more; | |
| And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew! | 30 |
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III. Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a day | |
| Soon as the blast of that underground thunderclap echoed away, | |
| Dark through the smoke and the sulphur like so many fiends in their hell— | |
| Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell— | |
| Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy fell. | 35 |
| What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the Redan! | |
| Storm at the Water-gate! storm at the Bailey-gate! storm, and it ran | |
| Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side | |
| Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily devoured by the tide— | |
| So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who shall escape? | 40 |
| Kill or be killed, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and men! | |
| Ready! take aim at their leaders—their masses are gapp’d with our grape— | |
| Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave flinging forward again, | |
| Flying and foiled at the last by the handful they could not subdue; | |
| And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. | 45 |
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IV. Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb, | |
| Strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey, to endure, | |
| Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him; | |
| Still—could we watch at all points? we were every day fewer and fewer. | |
| There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper that past: | 50 |
| ‘Children and wives—if the tigers leap into the fold unawares— | |
| Every man die at his post—and the foe may outlive us at last— | |
| Better to fall by the hands that they love, than to fall into theirs!’ | |
| Roar upon roar in a moment two mines by the enemy sprung | |
| Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades. | 55 |
| Rifleman, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand is as true! | |
| Sharp is the fire of assault, better aimed are your flank fusillades— | |
| Twice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they had clung, | |
| Twice from the ditch where they shelter we drive them with hand-grenades; | |
| And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. | 60 |
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V. Then on another wild morning another wild earthquake out-tore | |
| Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good paces or more. | |
| Riflemen, high on the roof, hidden there from the light of the sun— | |
| One has leapt up on the breach, crying out: ‘Follow me, follow me!’— | |
| Mark him—he falls! then another, and him too, and down goes he. | 65 |
| Had they been bold enough then, who can tell but the traitors had won? | |
| Boardings and rafters and doors—an embrasure! make way for the gun! | |
| Now double-charge it with grape! It is charged and we fire, and they run. | |
| Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face have his due! | |
| Thanks to the kindly dark faces who fought with us, faithful and few, | 70 |
| Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote them, and slew, | |
| That ever upon the topmost roof our banner in India blew. | |
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VI. Men will forget what we suffer and not what we do. We can fight! | |
| But to be soldier all day and be sentinel all through the night— | |
| Ever the mine and assault, our sallies, their lying alarms, | 75 |
| Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings to arms, | |
| Ever the labour of fifty that had to be done by five, | |
| Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive, | |
| Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loopholes around, | |
| Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground, | 80 |
| Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies, | |
| Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of flies, | |
| Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an English field, | |
| Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that would not be healed, | |
| Lopping away of the limb by the pitiful—pitiless knife,— | 85 |
| Torture and trouble in vain,—for it never could save us a life. | |
| Valour of delicate women who tended the hospital bed, | |
| Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead, | |
| Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief, | |
| Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief, | 90 |
| Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butchered for all that we knew— | |
| Then day and night, day and night, coming down on the still-shattered walls | |
| Millions of musket-bullets, and thousands of cannon-balls— | |
| But ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. | |
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VII. Hark cannonade, fusillade! is it true what was told by the scout, | 95 |
| Outram and Havelock breaking their way through the fell mutineers? | |
| Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears! | |
| All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout, | |
| Havelock’s glorious Highlanders answer with conquering cheers, | |
| Sick from the hospital echo them, women and children come out, | 100 |
| Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock’s good fusileers, | |
| Kissing the war-hardened hand of the Highlander wet with their tears! | |
| Dance to the pibroch!—saved!—we are saved!—is it you? is it you? | |
| Saved by the valour of Havelock, saved by the blessing of Heaven! | |
| ‘Hold it for fifteen days!’ we have held it for eighty-seven! | 105 |
| And ever aloft on the palace roof the old banner of England blew. | |
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